Heaven Sent
by DeathsAngel1816
Summary: Trowa has lost his way in life and is on the verge of losing everything. Will a mysterious blonde be able to save him before it’s to late? Chapter 4 revised
1. Prologue

Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing, so please don't sue.  
  
Warnings: Yaoi, 3x4, possible lemon in later chapters, graphic scenes later on. AU. A bit of OOC.  
  
--------------  
  
Prologue  
  
The bright morning sunlight was warm against his face, contrasting with the chill breeze that tugged lightly at his clothes. He was dressed in the same white shirt and black slacks as always, but the material was different this time. The shirt was silk instead of his regular cotton and the leather pants molded to his legs like a second skin. Knee-high, black leather boots kept his calves warm against the spring air. His gaze raked the desolate landscape, looking for a being, a presence, someone alive and breathing, but he found nothing in the ruins of the city. He walked down the debris-filled streets, searching for something that he couldn't quite place as of yet, but he was sure he would find it here. He wrapped his arms around his chest, protecting himself from the cold that wasn't entirely due to the weather.  
  
He walked for what seemed a lifetime up and down the deserted streets, his steps echoing mournfully off the hollow shells of buildings. By the time he decided to give up his search the sun had set beyond the horizon and dusk had settled on the ghostly city. Sitting down on a low wall and staring off at the desolate landscape, something in the distance caught his attention. Just on the horizon there seemed to be the outline of a man, but it was too far away to tell. He started toward the figure with the hope of finding the end to his search, but it seemed the closer he came the farther away it appeared to be. So intent was he on his goal that he was unaware of the gaping hole in the street and fell in with a startled cry.  
  
With a groan he rolled off of his back and sat up, the cold mud clinging to his soiled shirt and dripping off his hair. Stone fragments crunched and shifted under his weight as he came to his feet. In near blackness he eyed the gray-rimmed lip of the pit, then surveyed the huge slabs of concrete that lay scattered around him. Grateful that he hadn't broken his back on one of them, he spotted one stone that he could stand on, but with his slippery boots and the cables of steel twisting out of the top it would be a dangerous undertaking. Still, he would try. With his teeth set in determination he climbed onto the rock, steadying himself with a hand against the muddy wall, but the slab was not tall enough and he came a few feet short of freedom. He could risk jumping from the top of the rock, but the possibility of slipping and falling to his death gave him pause. But then, Death smiles at everyone and the only thing a person can do is smile back. There was no point in lying in the pit until he died of cold and hunger.  
  
Just when he was about to jump, a form appeared at the edge of the hole, startling him. "I can help you," the person said in a sweet, melodic voice reminiscent of bells. "Just give me your hand." He stared up at the dark outline, wondering if this was the same person he had seen at the city limits.  
  
Despite his need, it was his stubborn policy to never accept help, not from anyone for any reason. "I don't need your charity," he said coldly as he resumed to his calculations of the situation.  
  
"Please let me help you," begged the figure.  
  
"No, I'm fine," he replied sharply. Suddenly noticing a strange golden light, he glanced up at the androgynous, white-clad person. With a gasp his arms fell limply to his sides as he saw the glowing white wings coming from the person's back. He raised a hand to shield his eyes against the light, but he couldn't see the figure's face behind the shining glow. The figure kneeled, his hand extended for him to grab. Strangely he was unafraid, but his disbelief fueled his stubbornness and still he refused to accept.  
  
"Please," the figured pleaded, "Just take my hand. You'll die if you don't."  
  
"I have everything under control, so if you'd just give me some room I'll get out of here on my own," he replied angrily. He coiled his muscles for the jump, then pushed off the rock with all his force, fingers stretching for the surface. His foot slipped on the mud it was caked in and he started to fall backwards. Eyes wide, he watched as the top retreated farther and farther away from, the figure still standing there, straining to catch him. Time seemed to freeze and he watched the last seconds of his life float past until reality came crashing back with a thud. His breath was forced out of his lungs with a grunt as the sharp edges of rocks knifed into his back, searing pain flaming through his body. Then the ground under his back gave way and he continued to plummet, finding no end to the abyss. The figure called his name desperately, but the golden light soon receded into a sparkling memory. After an eternity of falling through space devoid of any remembrance of light, he felt a burning heat at his back. He twisted in the air to see fires rapidly approaching and he had time to notice no more before he crashed into the ground. Flames licked at his bruised and broken skin as he gasped in agony, every bone in his body screaming in pain as his blood seeped away from him. In the distance he could hear a hideous, rasping noise that sounded like laughter, dark and cold like a winter night, Death lurking within its depths. The sound began to take shape, a shadow within the brightness of the fire, a form so heinous that it was banned from the world of the living, and it saw his fear and laughed.  
  
Trowa shot up from his bed covered in a cold sweat. It was that dream again, the one he'd been having since he was a small child, always the same dream but each time somehow different. //It should have stopped by now,// he thought. Trowa brushed the hair out of his eyes and cradled his head in his hands. The dreams always seemed to scramble his mind, making him feel like he had just run a hundred miles and was then hit by a bus. Looking at his nightstand he noticed the glowing red letters telling him it was 4:00 A.M. Three hours of sleep. //Just great.// He would never be able to get through the day. He needed rest; he had already gone a week without sleeping and the boss wouldn't let him back in the office till he had at least gotten eight hours of sleep. //I could always lie,//he thought. Good thing he had the day off. Trowa set the alarm for 9:00 and rolled over to try to sleep. This time he didn't dream, but he could still hear the figure calling to him, the voice ringing in his head. "Just let me help you . . ."  
  
---------- This is my first fic and I know it's not the best, so please help me by reviewing - I do like constructive criticism. Thank you very much.  
  
----------- .... . ... Psst. This is the beta reader here. If you see any mistakes, notify ME, NOT the author, or I will hunt you down, tie you to a chair, and make you drink lake water with my fat Uncle George, 'kay? 'Kay. ^____^ I claim any and all responsibility for errors. E-mail me at wolf002000@yahoo.com. And remember, folks: positive and constructive comments are for the author; negative, destructive, and otherwise snarky comments are for the beta reader. Take care, y'all, and don't poke badgers with spoons. ^___^ 


	2. New Partner

Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing or anything relating to it.  
  
// \\ = thoughts  
  
~ = different point of view ( and I switch points of view a little too much, so be aware.)  
  
~*~ = moving forward in time  
  
~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Trowa was woken from his sleep by the sound of someone knocking on the front door. Rolling out of bed he looked at the clock, its neon red numbers flashed 10:15 A.M. "Who on earth could possible be knocking on my door?" he grumbled as he stumbled out of his room, in just his boxers, towards the direction of the noise. When he reached the door he yanked it open and barked, "Who the hell are you and what do you want?"  
  
The man in the hallway stood shock by such hostility " I . . . I . . . I'm . . . umm . . . Quatre Winner and I . . . umm . . . am your new umm . . . partner and roommate," he stammered, fiddling with the ends of his sleeves - not looking the other man in the eye.  
  
Trowa eyed the young man in the hallway suspiciously, "I don't have a partner," he snorted rather annoyed. Folding his arms across his bare chest, he glared at the man who was standing in front of him. The young man was wearing a brown leather coat and had two large suitcases place on each side of his body. He had light golden blonde hair and large aqua blue eyes, which his face seemed almost child-like. He was shorter than Trowa by about a half a head and despite his appearance he was probably in his early to mid twenties. Trowa had never seen this man before in his life but somehow the blonde looked somewhat familiar.  
  
"Umm . . . You are Trowa Barton, aren't you?" He said, suddenly very uneasy. Had he made a mistake?  
  
Trowa merely nodded in response, while the blonde in front of him let out a sigh of relief.  
  
"Good," He said with a little more confidence, but one look at a very unhappy Trowa completely shattered his resolve. "Umm . . . the Chief said . . . that I . . . umm . . . was to be your new . . . umm . . . partner . . . and that I was . . . umm . . .to stay here with you . . . for as long as I'm here." Quatre said nervously, shaking in his shoes. Why did this man scare him so much? //Curses, why do I get all the hard cases?\\ He would never be able to work with such a ill-mannered, egotistical, insolent (yet good looking) man.  
  
"The Chief said that, huh? Well I think the Chief made a mistake," said Trowa unfolding his arms. Looking at the blonde in front of him, he couldn't help but feel sorry for him; he looks so scared and lost. Besides, It wasn't his fault the Chief made a mistake and Trowa wasn't completely heartless. "Why don't you come in for awhile and we can straighten this whole mess out?" he said as he ushered the young man in.  
  
~*~  
  
~ The apartment was fairly large but it wasn't huge, Quatre noted as he entered. The living room was surprisingly clean except of a few beer bottles and a newspaper scattered over what could be a glass coffee table. The furniture was simple but stylish; there was a brown leather sofa in the center of the room facing the same wall as the door with matching lounge chairs to either side. The floor was primarily wood except a large cream rug under the furniture set. The walls were an off-white color and void of any art and/or photographs. There was a splendid entertainment unit positioned on the wall across from the sofa with a 32" TV, DVD player with surround speakers and a huge stereo system. The wall, opposite the door, was virtually all windows with a sliding glass door that lead to the terrace. Off to his right was an arched alcove that held three oak doors; two on the sides, facing each other, and one in the middle. They were probably the doors that lead two the bedrooms and bathroom. To the left, the living room merged with the kitchen. There was a bar that separated the kitchen and the living room with a couple of stools.  
  
"Why don't you put your stuff down and have a seat Mr. Winner?" asked Trowa, "and if you don't mind I would like to get dressed." Quatre nodded and watched as Trowa went off throw one of the oak door. In the mean time he sat down in one of the lounge chairs and looked around the room again //This really is a lovely apartment, too bad he's such a jerk. At least he's trying to be polite.\\ The mid-morning sun was beaming in threw the windows giving the place an almost heavenly glow. Quatre wondered how Trowa ever got such a wonderful place. //Why do I get all the hard assignments?\\ Quatre thought //It really is quite unfair \\  
  
~ Trowa emerged from his room a few minutes later to find the young man sitting in one of the chairs lost in thought. "Well," said Trowa, causing the blonde to jump in surprise. "Shall we call the Chief and get this whole mess straightened out?" Quatre nodded and watched as Trowa headed for the kitchen.  
  
~*~  
  
The phone only rang twice before someone answered, "Hello, Police Chief Jankin's office, this is Nancy, how may I help you?"  
  
"Nancy, this is Trowa Barton. Is the Chief there?"  
  
"No, he's taken the next few weeks off, but he left you a message. Would you like to come in and pick it up?"  
  
Trowa paused for a moment //He's on vacation at a time like this. He truly is an idiot.\\ "No Nancy, why don't you just read the message over the phone?"  
  
There was along pause and Trowa could hear the rustling of papers as Nancy searched for the message. A few minutes later the rustling stopped and he heard Nancy clear her throat. "Alright, here it is. The note states and I quote - Inspector Trowa Barton, I assume that you have already meet Mr. Winner. Good. Now you listen to me you lazy ass Son-of-a-Bitch. I should have fired you for that last stunt you pulled And don't think that I wasn't going to, because I was about to when the Bureau sent us an agent and requested that he be partnered with you. Heaven only knows why but how could I refuse; you off all people need a babysitter and from what I hear Mr. Winner is one of the best in his department. I thought it would be best since he's new in town that he should stay with you in the apartment 'I' got for you. So if you don't want to lose your job and the apartment I'm letting you stay in, I suggest you try your hardest to get along with him. Also if I hear of you disobeying any of my orders I will can your ass as soon as I get back, request from the top or not. Is that understood? - That's all the note says Sir."  
  
"Thank you Nancy that will do," Trowa replied trying to keep his voice calm. He gently hung up the phone and walked back into the living room. //How could they do this to HIM?\\  
  
~ "Well, it looks like you were right," Trowa said matter-of-factly. He grabbed a coat, which Quatre hadn't even noticed, of the other chair and headed for the door.  
  
"Where are you going?" Quatre asked not really sure if he wanted an answer.  
  
"I'm going out. It's my day off and I don't intent to waste it by sitting around here. Feel free to make yourself at home." With that he walked out the door and left Quatre alone in the apartment. With a sigh, the blonde set to work unpacking and getting himself settled.  
  
~*~  
  
The room was plain with only a bed and chest of drawers; it was apparent, by the layers of undisturbed dust, that this room had not been touched or inhabited for quite a while. "First things first," Quatre said to himself as he changed out of his suit into a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt. "Lets see what he has for cleaning supplies."  
  
The only thing Trowa had for cleaning supplies was some Lysol under the sink. //How pathetic. No wonder the place is so neat; he has people come in and clean\\ "Well it looks like I need to go shopping" he grumbled. Quatre check the rest of the apartment to see what else he would have to get. The fridge was practically empty, as were the cupboards. //What does this guy live on? Take-out?\\ Once his shopping list made out Quatre set out; hopping that he was not making the biggest mistake of his life by coming here.  
  
~ He had been driving around for an hour now and he still couldn't get the blonde off his mind. Why did the he effect him like this? The blonde wasn't anyone special, if anything Trowa had a good reason to hate him -- He waltzes in out of nowhere and is trying to still his glory; well what glory he had left. His career had gone down hill for the past two years and didn't appear to be improving anytime soon. //If only things hadn't gone wrong.\\  
  
Trowa had been lost in thoughts of the past when familiar flashing lights caught his eye. Immediately Trowa pulled over, parked his car and walk toward the direction lights only to have his view blocked by two burly officers. One was a whole head taller than Trowa with thick dark hair and piercing blue eyes, while the other was about an inch shorter than Trowa with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. Trowa knew the men from the precinct he worked for, but he'd never taken the time to learn their names, or anyone else's from the precinct; he always thought that such things were a waste of time and brain power. "Gentlemen, would you get out of my way?" he demanded staring the bigger of the two men in the eye and trying to push his way past.  
  
"Not so fast Barton. We have strict orders not to let you near any crime sense today," the dark haired one said.  
  
"Oh really," Trowa said in a mocking voice that was on the brink of sounding annoyed. "And by whose orders may I ask?"  
  
"The Chief's orders sir," the blonde piped in. He was apparently nervous; Trowa always appeared calm and rash, but he could take down any man at the precinct if he wanted to.  
  
"Oh, carry on then," he said, remembering what the Chief's note had said about him loosing his job and Trowa did not want to loose his job.  
  
The men stared as Trowa walked back to his car. This was the first time in history that this had every happed; the men would certainly remember this moment for the rest of their lives. They quickly ran back to tell the rest of the men what had just happen - Trowa Barton had just obeyed an order.  
  
Trowa grumbled to himself all the way back to the car. //This can't be happening to me. What's left of my reputation will be ruined by this.\\ Today was not turning out to be a good day for him all because of that little blonde.  
  
~*~  
  
He returned home still in a huff, and was shocked at the condition his apartment was in. The door to the spare bedroom was open, there was a pile a blankets and sheets near the couch; there where bags of every sort scattered around the whole living room. The kitchen was in just as bad of shape; there were grocery bags covering the entire counter and part of the floor. While Trowa was surveying the scene Quatre emerged from the room carrying a dish rag and some Pledge. "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO MY APARTMENT!?" Trowa roared, his calm composer had been pushed to its limits.  
  
The blonde froze in place, apparently he hadn't notice the other man until he yelled. "I . . . I . . . I went shopping . . . and . . . and hadn't had time . . . umm . . . to put every thing . . . away yet," stammered Quatre.  
  
"Fine, just make sure that it's completely cleaned and soon." Trowa wasn't a neat freak but he hated a messy house, it showed a lack of character. He, himself, didn't have time to clean much so he hired a maid service that came every Thursday.  
  
This had been the last straw and Trowa had had all he could take for one day. He stormed off to his room to try and gain some composure.  
  
~ Quatre watched as Trowa stomped into his room. Things were not turning out the way he wanted them to. He had hoped to have everything done before he came home as sort of a surprise, but that hadn't worked. //Maybe dinner will go better.\\ With a sigh Quatre set to work on cleaning up his mess and fixing dinner.  
  
~*~  
  
He had just put the finishing touches on dinner when Trowa emerged from his room with a stack of papers. The dark haired man stood there apparently in awe of what he saw. Quatre looked around trying to see what was so amazing. Sure he had cleaned the place until it shined but that wasn't it. The only thing that it could possible be was the oak table set he had bought along with a dinette set, along with some curtains that now hung over the glass wall. He had even taken the liberty to light a few candles, because of the calming effect they had on him and with the hectic day he had today the effect was more than welcome.  
  
It was a shame that the candles didn't have the same effect on Trowa because the first thing out his mouth was "WHAT THE HELL!?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'What the hell'?" Quatre snapped starting to become annoyed with the impudent treatment he was getting.  
  
"What is that and that," indicating the table and curtains. He was not impressed with the fact that this 'man' was moving in and taking over his place and messing with things.  
  
"For your information it happens to be a table with dishes and food and silverware and those a curtains," he said angrily. Quatre had had about all he could take of 'Trowa Barton'. //Why me? I, of all people, don't deserve this.\\  
  
"I know what they are. But what are they doing in 'my' apartment?" he said trying to keep his voice calm and trying not to kill the blonde thing in front of him.  
  
"It's 'our" apartment now and I thought that they would look nice. Besides you didn't have any food and hardly any dishes or silverware. I also thought that it would be nice to have a table to eat off of and unlike you I don't like the world knowing my business so I put up some curtains." For the first time in his life Quatre had to fight the urge to strangle someone. He was normally even tempered and could usually get himself out of situations by talking rather than fighting but something about this man made Quatre want to kill Trowa were he stood.  
  
Even though he was seething with anger he managed to keep his voice calm while he asked "Why don't we sit down and eat before the food gets cold and fight about the table and curtains later?"  
  
Not wanting to fight any more Trowa just nodded and sat down in one of the chairs. Quatre served the dish he made - marinated teriyaki chicken and rice. It smelled delicious but that was the last thing Trowa would admit. So they ate in silence.  
  
~*~  
  
~ After dinner Trowa watched as Quatre cleared the table and cleaned up the kitchen. He couldn't help but notice how gracefully the smaller man moved as he cleaned; his muscles flexing ever so slightly under his shirt as he reached to place things in the cupboards or wiping down the counter. Trowa was very comfortable with his sexuality to admit when a guy was good looking; to bad the guy in front of him infuriated him at ever turn.  
  
Quatre finished cleaning the kitchen and turned to Trowa, anger still etched into his delicate features. Before the blonde could utter a word Trowa muttered, " The table and curtains are fine where they are."  
  
The blonde's whole face softened and a small light seemed to enter his eyes; he truly had gorgeous eyes, a light aqua marine color that seemed to glow in the dying sunlight that lit the room. "Thank you, Trowa," he utter quietly as a small smile graced his lips. Who new such a small victory could make him so happy?  
  
Trowa sighed, this was a major blow to his ego. How was he ever going to recover form today's events? He had half a mind to take back what he said about the table and curtains but all that came out of his mouth was "You're welcome and if you'll excuse me I have some paper work to catch up on, so I'll see you in the morning." Quatre nodded and Trowa went to his room.  
  
~*~  
  
Trowa tried to work but found his thoughts drifted to the days events. In one day his life had been turned completely up side down and it was all because of that blonde in the other room. He let his thoughts linger on Quatre, //What is it about him that seems so familiar? \\ With a heavy sigh, Trowa shut off his work lamp and climbed into bed. Maybe if he was lucky he would at least get a good night's sleep tonight.  
  
TBC . . .  
  
~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Please R&R, it would really mean a lot to me and don't be afraid to say some negative comments, they help me out just as much as the positive ones do. I would also be very interested if you had any thoughts on how to make the story better. I also apologize for this chapter being so crappy; my beta reader has left me to fend for myself and I suck. So if you notice the mistakes please tell me. Thank you very much. 


	3. The Case

Disclaimers: See Prologue  
  
Warnings: Crime scene descriptions.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The early morning sun was streaming through the window when Trowa involuntarily opened his eyes, his body protesting; weeks of not sleeping were starting to take their toll. He lay dozing till the buzzer on his alarm clock went off at its usual time, 6:30 a.m.; filling the silent room with an annoying hum, which caused Trowa to fully awaken to reality. Turing the stupid thing off, Trowa looked out the window; the morning sun was streaming threw the curtains filling the room with its soft light and a gentle breeze could be felt coming in through the open window. It appeared to be a wonderful May morning, but for some reason Trowa felt hallow inside. For once in his life he had a dreamless sleep, and it left him empty. After being plague so long by that dream, it had become a part of him. A part he thought he would be glad to be rid of, but now that it's gone he missed it. It was the one constant factor in his life and maybe he had found comfort in knowing that he would always have his dream.  
  
With a heavy sigh Trowa climbed out of bed and started his normal morning ritual. He took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, washed his face, gelled his hair and got dressed.  
  
Halfway through getting dressed, Trowa detected a strange odor permeating the room. //What could that be?\\ The smell seemed to be coming for the other room, so Trowa went to investigate. He followed the smell out into the living room and saw its source; Quatre had made breakfast.  
  
~ The small blonde had just set the food on the table when Trowa had come out of his room. He was only half dressed with navy blue slacks and his white shirt was unbuttoned revealing a very tight undershirt. Quatre, himself, was dressed in a warm brown suit with an off white dress shirt and brown and toffee-stripped tie. He didn't much care for the suit but the tailor had said it looked good on him so he had gotten it.  
  
Quatre looked over at his roommate, who had a look of mild annoyance or confusion, Quatre couldn't tell which. //Why is it that everything I do seems to anger or annoy him?\\ The blonde let out a heavy sigh and turned to face Trowa and asked "What?" He had said it with more hostility then he intended, but he was becoming thoroughly annoyed with the taller man.  
  
"Nothing," replied Trowa; he hadn't meant to offend the blonde. It was just a surprise to see breakfast made. Normally breakfast, for him, consisted of nothing at all or something from the vending machine at work.  
  
"Would you like some breakfast?" Quatre asked calming down. He was determined to have a good day and was not going to let some rude brute ruined it.  
  
"Sure," said Trowa and he sat down at the new dining table and watched as the blonde served scrambled eggs and sausage. The food smelled delicious and tasted even better. If anything Trowa could get use to the blonde cooking for him.  
  
They ate in silence and Quatre watched as Trowa stared out the window as he ate. For some reason the taller man did not seem to be himself today //Or is this how he normally is and was yesterday a fluke?\\ The blonde couldn't figure out which was the reason for his companion's odd behavior and didn't feel he knew the man well enough to ask. So he concerned himself with finishing the remaining scraps of food on his own plate.  
  
~*~  
  
After breakfast Trowa went back to his room to finish getting dressed and left Quatre to tend to the dishes. He didn't mind doing the dishes; it was kind of nice to have something to do while he waited for his new partner, who was taking forever to get dressed. He need a ride to work and was hoping that Trowa would oblige but at this rate it might be worth calling a cab. //He takes longer than most girls I know\\ the blonde mused, checking his watch. //I'm going to be late for work on my first day, this can't be a good sign\\ At that moment Trowa emerged form his room dressed and ready to go.  
  
"Why are you still here? I thought you would have left by now?" Trowa asked in a less-then-friendly voice.  
  
"I . . . I . . . don't know were the precinct is. I . . . I've never been to Chicago before," the blonde stammered. He couldn't help but be frightened by the piercing gaze of those emerald eyes.  
  
"And I suppose you wanted to ride with me until you're more familiar with the territory" Trowa said still sounding un-amused by the situation.  
  
Quatre could only nod in response; his voice having left him. He hated the fact that he was so intimidated by Trowa. He really had nothing to fear, he wasn't weak or defenseless, but something in the other man's eyes made Quatre hesitate and cower. He couldn't put words to what he saw in them; he could see the normal emotions that played in them but there was also a darkness, a caged beast waiting to pounce, that Quatre didn't want to unleash.  
  
Trowa let out an annoyed sigh and walked out the door. Quatre took that as his cue and followed him.  
  
~*~  
  
They reached the precinct at 8:27, thanks to light traffic and Trowa's lead foot. The building it's self was old brick, probably form when Chicago was first inhabited. But as you walked in, it was like walking though a time portal for the inside was very modern, from the fluorescent lights and phones ringing right down to the tile on the floor  
  
They took the elevator to the second floor where the Deputy Chief's office was; they need to check in before the meeting that would explain the reason for Mr. Winner's presence at their humble little precinct.  
  
"You're late," was all Deputy Chief Driscol said as the two men walked through the door. Deputy Chief Andrew Driscol was a tall, thin man with chocolate brown hair, which was graying with aged. He had deep set brown eyes and a bushy mustache that graced his upper lip, giving him an appearance of authority that complimented his aura.  
  
"We still had one minute," Trowa retorted, not the least bit pleased about the accusation; for the first time in his career he was on time.  
  
"Not you Barton, you're friend," the Deputy Chief said in an even voice that sounded ragged and tired. Things were chaotic with the Chief of Police on vacation at such a crucial time of the year. Spring and Holidays were always the cop's busiest seasons, and with this new case things were worst than normal. "He was suppose to be here half an hour ago."  
  
"I'm sorry sir, but no one told me where the precinct was so I had to wait for Mr. Barton," said Quatre. Deputy Chief Driscol raised a bushy eyebrow at this information, it was highly unusual for an agent to be sent somewhere and not know where they were going. Quatre sensed this and quickly explained the situation further. "I was met at the airport by Chief Jankin and he told me to go straight to Trowa's apartment and inform him about his new temporary partner and roommate."  
  
Still not completely satisfied with that answer the Deputy Chief said, "Alright, you have fifteen minutes until the meeting; have Detective Barton show you around and help prepare the presentation."  
  
"Yes sir." Both men said in unison. They were preparing to leave when the Deputy Chief told Trowa to halt.  
  
"Oh, and Detective Trowa I want you to be on your best behavior. That means, if you screw up I will personally make sure that they can your ass. Is that understood?"  
  
"Yes sir." He said in his normal stoic tone. With that the two men left the room, the taller of the two men less then happy.  
  
~*~  
  
The conference room was medium size with white plaster walls and one small window. There were rows of desks for the officers to sit and take notes. It was eight forty-five and everyone was ready to go.  
  
Quatre was completely nervous, this was the worst part of his job; getting up and talking in front of people. He was a very shy person and hated all the attention, but this was important and he had to do it; the officers need to know what they were up against and why he was there. But it didn't make it any easier. Quatre was sure that they were all curious about his presence at their precinct and what this new case has in-store for them.  
  
Letting out a heavy sigh, Quatre faced the room and began his presentation. "Hello, I'm Special Agent Quatre Winner and I am here due to a case I have been working on." He paused and waited till the hushed voices settled before he continued. "I assume you have all heard about the killings that have been taking place around the New York area?" He didn't wait for a reply as he continued " The Agency as reason to believe that the killer has moved to this area because of a killing that took place just a few weeks ago. I'm assuming that you already know the details. The killer is believed to be a white male in his thirties or forties. He is very organized and very unusual."  
  
Quatre continued to talk as he passed out copies of the main file to everyone in the room. "His victims are male and female but all are young, natural blondes and all are shorter than 5'6''. The press has taken to calling him the Hallmark Killer(1) due to the unusual markings he carves on the back and over the hearts of his victims post mortem." Quatre set a blown up picture on the stand to show what he was talking about. "The marking on the back has been identified as the Roman symbol for 'death'. " Pausing only for a minute to let the gruesome details of the crime sink in, Quatre continued "As you can see there is an unusual cross shaped incision above the heart and is another symbol associated with death. There have been nine victims so far; five females and four males. He kills every third month, the first victim was found the beginning of May and she had been dead for at least a week before she was found, as have all the victims."  
  
The crew looked at the pictures one by one and it was true that the symbol on the back of the victims was truly unusual. It resembled two upside down crosses or two swords forming an 'X' and the equal lengths of the arms on the cross incision over the heart were a sight to behold. The bodies themselves didn't appear to be too bad off; all the victims were found dressed with hands folded across their chest and there were no bruises that anyone could see. The victims had the appearance of merely sleeping. Who ever this guy was he was an expert at his craft.  
  
Quatre looked about the room at the shocked expressions on all the faces. This was the reaction he expected, the case was a grisly one and hard to stomach, despite the care taken by the killer to keep the victims looking as pleasant as possible, but he hope they could handle it. He was about to continue when a faint sound caught his ears. He followed the sound with his eyes to a desk in the back of the room. The very desk Trowa was sitting. Apparently the man had fallen asleep during the lecture, this bothered Quatre greatly. What kind of detective would fall asleep during a very important briefing? //I guess I'll just have to give him the information later.\\ Again he let out a heavy sigh and continued.  
  
"The victims," Quatre said, "have been drained of all their bodily fluids and internal organs. It is believed that the perp. has had experience with mortuary science, either working in a mortuary or studying the subject extensively. Unfortunately we were unable to come up with any leads with that information alone. If any one has any question at any time I will be more than willing to answer as many as possible. I thank you for your time and good luck." With that everyone started to file out of the room save a few whom approached the FBI Agent.  
  
A young man of medium build was the first to reach him. "My name is Detective Johnathen Michaels," the man said in a friendly tenor voice, "and I was wondering why you believe he has come to Chicago and why it's not just a copycat."  
  
"Two weeks ago a body was found just out side of the city as you well know," Quatre stated, "and we are certain it was the work of our man. If you look at the last victim in your file," Quatre flipped the file open to show what he was talking about. "You'll see that her name was Eve Carson, age 23. Her body was found three miles south of Chicago along Interstate 94, laying along side the road and the people who had come across her thought she was sleeping. Only after they tried to wake her did they realize she was dead. That is why we don't think it's a copycat; the work is too precise. " Detective Michaels nodded his acknowledgement, thanked Quatre for his time and walked out the door.  
  
The next person to come up to the blonde was an energetic woman with medium brown hair that was pulled tightly into a bun. "I'm Detective Cathandra Ross and why were you sent to our precinct?" She said giving Quatre a smile and bouncing slightly one the balls of her feet. It was obvious that she did not mean anything negative by the comment, but was merely curious. Anyone would be curious and wondering why a FBI Agent would be sent to work for his or her precinct.  
  
"I was sent here because you have the reputation of being the best homicide force in the city," He said actually smiling. "And to solve this case we need the best. Is that all?"  
  
"Yes," She said giving him another smile. "Thank you sir. I look forward to working with you." With that said she walked away to talk to a few more people before leaving the room.  
  
When most of the room had cleared Trowa came walking up to the front of the room where Quatre was still gathering his things. "Nice presentation," He said while fighting a yawn. It was obvious to Quatre that despite his little catnap the man still need sleep.  
  
"Was my presentation that boring or were you just that tired?" Quatre asked, trying not to let any resentment seep into his voice. For some reason this man aggravated him more than anything on earth; working with him would one of the toughest ordeals that he would have to go threw, he could feel it.  
  
Just before Trowa could answer a tall, leggy, raven-haired officer came walking over. Her high heels clicked on the linoleum floor as she stalked over to where the two men were standing.  
  
"Trowa, isn't great that we finally get to work on a case together," she said. To Quatre her voice dripped of velvet and venom, there was something about the woman that Quatre just didn't like. "Oh hello Agent Winner," she said finally acknowledging his existence, "I'm Sergeant Laura Hanson, it's a pleasure to meet you." She didn't wait for him to answer before she turned her attention back to Trowa.  
  
Quatre had a feeling that knew her from somewhere, but he couldn't place her. Just something about her seemed so familiar, but what? He would have to figure that out later. There were more important matters at hand; like the decision to rescue his partner. It was obvious that Trowa wanted nothing to do with her and would most likely give his right arm to get away from her. Quatre found it was rather amusing to see Trowa squirming in her grasp as she tired to make plans for dinner. He contemplated not rescuing is rude partner for a few minutes but in the end decided to save the poor man. "Um . . . Sergeant Hanson I'm sorry to interrupt but Detective Barton and I need to go over some details for the case. It's very important and I'm sure you could talk to Trowa some other time."  
  
Sergeant Hanson glared at the blonde but reluctantly released Trowa from her claws. She stomped off without a word; the sound of her heels seemed to echo through the room as she left.  
  
Once she was gone Trowa let out a sigh of relief. Turning to his partner he merely nodded his thanks and started out the door and towards their new office. Quatre followed wordlessly as his new partner led the way.  
  
~*~  
  
The rest of the day went pretty smoothly; it was mostly going over reports and information, trying to find any new leads on the case. They had less than two months before the killer would strike again and they had to work fast. The next victim they knew would be a guy, due to his alternating pattern; the first victim was a woman named Elizabeth Lawley and then a man by the name of Joshua Ramsden. After him came Ceciel Belmount and the list goes on; Bryan Hunter, Krystal Fergus, Hale Kencade, Racelle Davids, Dakota Garrison and last but not least Eve Carson, the most recent victim. The only thing they had in common was that they all lived in New York, except of Miss Carson, and were natural blondes, other than that there was no way to connect them. This fact was very disturbing and frustrated Quatre to no end, // There has to be something. Something just doesn't seem right, there had to be something else, but what?\\  
  
~ Trowa was looking over the case file he had been given; in all of his years he had never seen anything like this. He had worked in the homicide division since he had been released from the academy, but he had never worked on case where the killer was so clever and had so many bodies in his wake. It was extremely perplexing; he couldn't imagine working on this for over two years and not wanting to kill someone himself. One thing he did know was that this guy thoroughly enjoyed what he was doing and didn't want to get caught.  
  
He set the file to the side and let his thoughts drift to other matters. He hated this assignment, mainly because he hated having a partner. The little blonde was annoying and completely cramped his style and if Trowa was right he did everything by the book and probably didn't have one blemish on his disciplinary report; unlike Trowa who had a report sheet a mile and a half long, if not longer.  
  
Looking over at his 'new partner' he could see that the little blonde was lost in thought. He looked like a little kid with the way he was slouching in his chair, brow furled, he almost looked like he was pouting. // How on earth could a he be a FBI Agent? He looks like a little baby, so young and almost innocent.\\ He looked around the room and the clock on the wall caught his attention; it was five-thirty. //Already? Finally I can escape this hellhole for the rest of the day.//  
  
"Quatre?" he called to the man across from him. There was no response form the little blonde so he called again, this time with a little more force. "Quatre!?"  
  
This time the blonde nearly jumped form his seat. "What?" he said trying his best not to kill the other man.  
  
Trowa merely nodded at the clock and walked out the door. The footsteps behind him told him that the blonde was following. For some reason he felt like he was leading a puppy around by a leash and that's the last thing he needed or wanted, a pathetic little annoying puppy.  
  
~*~  
  
Once home, Trowa headed straight for his room; telling Quatre that he wasn't hungry and had other cases to work on. The truth being that he hadn't had an actual case assigned to him in over two years; ever since the accident. He had been mostly doing paper work and reports for the past two years and it was driving him insane. //Why did it have to happen to me?\\ Trowa wondered as he sat at his desk and stared out the window.  
  
~*~  
  
He had been sitting there for hours and the sun was finally setting when his stomach rumbled and he looked at the clock, 7:30. //Maybe I should go get something to eat?\\ He hadn't eaten since breakfast and he was starving, but he really didn't want to see the annoying blonde, even though he knew that Quatre probably wouldn't bother him. It was just that the small blonde made him uneasy and he didn't know why and he didn't like it one bit. So he opted to stay in his room and work on a nonexistent assignment for the rest of the evening.  
  
----------  
  
1) I make no claim to the Hallmark name and I'm not trying to offend anyone (I am truly sorry if I did).  
  
Please review!!!! I really want to know what you think about this chapter (I wrote it in kind of a hurry). So do you like? Dislike? Want me to change something? I would really appreciate it. Thank you.  
  
On a different note, Thank you everyone, who has reviewed, you are the reason I kept writing. 


	4. Singel Feather

Disclaimers: See Prologue.  
  
Warnings: Crime scene, language, etc.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The sky was dark but the streets where brightly lit and he could see everyone clearly. He only needed to see one person. This one had to be the right one. He had been tracking this one for weeks now and it showed all the signs, and based on the description given to him by his superiors he was certain that this time he was right.  
  
He snorted as some exhaust penetrated his nostrils, and watched the people come and go until he spied the thing he had been waiting for. It came out of a brightly lit building, most likely a bar, and quickly walked towards its car and got in - it seems nervous. //That is good.\\ he though //I have to act now, before it gets away again.\\ He had been following it for weeks waiting for the perfect time to strike - and that time was now.  
  
He followed the car, waiting for it to stop and then he would pounce. He just had to wait. He was good at waiting, he had done it most of his life. The car stopped and it got out. //This is the perfect time\\ Then he got out of his car and approached it.  
  
"Hello," he said as he approached. He was smiling, putting on his most friendly façade. //This will be easy\\  
  
It turned and smiled back. "Hi . . . . . . .  
  
*****One week later*****  
  
Quatre was driving as fast as he could in the heavy traffic. Another body had been found. //Just great!\\ He had been in Chicago for little over a month and already something had happened. //It's too soon. I should still have a few weeks.\\ He turned left off Roosevelt Road onto Racine Ave. He was headed for Sheridan Park - that's where the body had been found.  
  
The flashing lights signaled that Quatre was at his destination. He stepped out of the car and prepared himself for what laid ahead. The first person to greet him was Detective Ross. Her normal bubbly and cheerful personality seemed doleful as she approached him.  
  
"This way," was all she said before she started to walk back the way she had come. He flipped the collar of his coat up trying to ward off the cold. He followed, bewildered by her reactions. Maybe this wasn't related to his case, but what if it was, and something had gone wrong? He would just have to wait and find out.  
  
When Quatre arrived at the scene he found Trowa already there examining the body and the surrounding area. He carefully crept closer trying not to disturb anything.  
  
"What is the situation?" he asked Trowa.  
  
"We have a male, named Zachary Anderson, 20 years of age and a student at the University of Illinois." Trowa answered. "Do you think it's the same guy?"  
  
Quatre took this time to examine the body himself. The victim was indeed male; he had sandy blonde hair, fair skin and was probably an athlete of some sort. He was lying on his back in the grass, arms folded over his chest. At first glance he appeared to be sleeping but if you took a second look you could see that all the color was gone from his face. His clothing appeared neat and clean from the black T-shirt down to the faded blue jeans.  
  
"I do believe so, but I can't say for sure. Not until I see if he has the same marks as the others."  
  
Trowa nodded his agreement, and motioned for one of the other officers. "Are we done here?" he asked in his normally stoic tone.  
  
"Yes we are, sir," the officer said, not sounding to confident. He was a patrol officer from the precinct, and Quatre had seen him once or twice, usually with a smaller blonde-headed man.  
  
"Alright then," Trowa said. "Let's get this body to the morgue for further examination."  
  
With that everyone burst into action, cleaning up the site, putting the gathered evidence in the cars, and getting the body into the ambulance. Quatre was not surprised at how efficient everyone was, but he was surprised at how Trowa seemed so 'in his element'.  
  
Throughout the past month he and Trowa had formed a working relationship. It mainly consisted of the two of them staying out of each other's way and not talking unless necessary. Even then Quatre could notice how uncomfortable Trowa seemed in an office, and how the other man loathed paperwork. But here, at the scene where the action was is where he truly belongs.  
  
Once Trowa was finished overseeing the clean up he turned to Quatre and said, "Meet at the morgue in about half an hour, okay Winner?"  
  
"Sounds good," he said, absolutely amazed at Trowa. That was the most he had spoken to Quatre since they started working together, and it was said in a nice professional manner, not in a commanding voice laced with anger. " I wonder what he's on." He said to himself as he headed back towards his rental car, " I hope he stays on it. I like Trowa this way."  
  
~*~  
  
At the morgue Trowa watched as Quatre examined the body. It was indeed the latest victim of the Hallmark Killer; from the way the body was prepared, right down to the symbols of death carved on the back and over the heart. The cause of death was still completely unknown. Quatre believed that the killer might have poisoned his victims, and then removed their organs, but that was hard to prove without any fluids or organs to test.  
  
Trowa noticed that Quatre, who had been buzzing around the body like a little bee, had been transfixed on one spot for the past few minutes. He moved from his perch on the wall, and peered over the blonde's shoulder to see for himself what the man found so fascinating.  
  
It appeared that Quatre was looking at the small incision in the victim's side from which the organs had been removed. Upon closer inspection he could see that wasn't it at all. What Quatre was looking at was a beautiful crystal white feather about the length of his forearm. The feather shimmered like a jewel in the florescent lighting as Quatre twisted it around in his fingers. In all of Trowa's life he had never seen anything that could compare with what laid before him.  
  
He tried to talk but all that came out was a barely audible, "Wow."  
  
That barely audible word caused Quatre to shoot out of his trance, realizing that Trowa was looking at the feather. The blonde quickly turned around and hid the feather behind his back, too surprised to say anything. He just stared up into the deep green, puzzled eyes of Trowa, who was standing only a hair's width from him. //He's so close, I can smell his aftershave.\\  
  
Trowa came to his senses first, saying, "I don't recall that being in the report."  
  
"Be.be.cause it's not," Quatre said, "This is a new advancement in the case, and . . . I . . . should get it down to the lab . . . right away. Now if you'll excuse me." With that he pushed his way past Trowa and out the door before he could even blink.  
  
//He's sure is acting odd.\\ Trowa thought staring at the empty doorway. Quatre had acted strange, even for him, which meant he must be hiding something. //I bet it has to do with that mysteriously beautiful feather?\\  
  
Letting out a heavy sigh he strolled out of the room and headed for the lab. He was determined to find out the deal with the feather come hell or high water.  
  
~*~  
  
Quatre was coming out of the lab at warp speed when he ran into someone's firm chest. Had it not been for a steady hand on his shoulder he might have hit the ground as well.  
  
Steadying himself Quatre looked up to apologize, but suddenly lost all train of thought, for staring down at him were a large pair of emerald green eyes that could only belong to one person.  
  
"Trowa!" the small blonde forced out, "What are you doing here?" He was shaking slightly, hoping that the taller man wouldn't notice.  
  
Trowa looked down on the small blonde practically in his arms. //Maybe that's why he seems so nervous.\\ He took a step back to allow the blonde some room.  
  
"I was just coming to check on the progress of the evidence that we collected," He said. Although the real reason he came was to see about the feather.  
  
"I just finished giving it to them," Quatre said calming his nerves. //Why does he have to stand so close?\\ "They said they would get done as soon as they could."  
  
Trowa nodded his head, "I see." He paused for a moment then said "Alright, I'll see you later then."  
  
With that he walked off, and Quatre let out a large sigh of relief, glad to have room to breathe. Although it wasn't like he minded, it was just that Trowa could be overbearing and not even know it. Oh well, he had better things to do then worry about . . . about what? . . . Certainly not Trowa. Why would that bother him? //Ah, life was so confusing sometimes.\\  
  
With another heavy sigh Quatre started towards the office he shared with Trowa. Maybe paperwork would distract him from all the chaotic thoughts running through his head.  
  
~*~  
  
After a few hours of twiddling his thumbs, Quatre decided he need to take a walk. He needed to clear his head and try and get a perspective on things. The newest development in the case was driving him bonkers. //What could all this mean?\\ He had thought long and hard and still couldn't come up with anything.  
  
He was on his way back to his office and lost in thought when he heard an odd noise coming from one of the janitor's closets as he passed by. The noise sounded like crying and on further inspection he was right - someone was crying.  
  
Upon opening the door to the closet, he found Detective Ross sitting; a stack of boxes Kleenex in hand, and eyes red and puffy from a long period of crying. This was highly unlike the woman he knew Cathandra to be; she was always bubbly and cheerful with a smile for everyone.  
  
Quatre knelt down beside the weeping woman and gently placed a hand on her shoulder; trying to remain calm as a flood of strong emotions hit him at once. He leaned forward and asked, "What's the matter Cathandra?" his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
She continued to sob for another few minutes, and then gained enough composure to speak. At first Quatre could only understand half of what she was saying, but as Quatre rubbed her back, and she calmed down, he was able to catch more.  
  
"He was so young," she sobbed. "Why did this have to happen to him? He was so bright and talented." With that she broke out into another fit of sobs, her whole body shaking from the effort.  
  
Quatre instinctually reached up and pulled her to him offering words of encouragement and comfort, "Who are you talking about," he asked in his most calming voice, "Please tell me so I can help you."  
  
She controlled sobs long enough to offer a single name, "Zachary Anderson." Victim number ten.  
  
Immediately Quatre remembered that Mr. Anderson had family living in the city, an aunt and uncle, a Kathleen and Simon Ross. They must be Cathandra's parents, and that would make Zachary Anderson her cousin. No wonder she was so crushed, he had heard her mention a cousin before, but would have never made the connection. How stupid could he be? Not wanting to say anything Quatre just held her and let her cry. Somehow, he thought, it was long overdue.  
  
~ Trowa had looked all over the building and still couldn't find his partner. He knew that the blonde hadn't gone home for his car was still in the garage. //So where could he be?\\ They had work to do, people to interview and a trail to catch before it grew cold.  
  
He was just about to give up when he saw Quatre and Detective Ross come out of a janitor's closet, Detective Ross looking a bit disheveled. //What on earth were they doing in there?\\ He was about to go and investigate when one of the lab technicians came running up.  
  
"Detective Barton! I have that information on that feather you wanted"  
  
TBC . . .  
  
--------------  
  
First off I just want everyone to applaud my new beta reader, The Falcon. Yey!!! We love you!!  
  
And second of all PLEASE R&R! They make me feel special and my story worth writing. Thanks a ton. 


	5. New Information

  
Disclaimers: See Prologue.  
Warnings: Mild Language 

Trowa sat at his desk staring at the feather as he twirled it between his fingers. Somehow, it didn't look quite the same from when he first saw it. The feather was similar in appearance but it just didn't have the same 'awe' it had had. The colors seemed duller, lacking the glow of life. What lay before him was what the lab technician had called a 'costume feather.'

FLASHBACK (To the day before)

"Detective Barton! I have that information on that feather you wanted"  
"Yes, what is it," he snapped. He was in one of his unpleasant moods, as usual.

"Here's the report," the technician said a little less confident than before, as he handed over the file. "According to the test it's only a costume feather, nothing more.

He took the files from the technician and calmly thanked him while in his head he was screaming. /A COSTUME FEATHER! NOT POSSIBLE!\ He took the feather out of the file and true it looked like the feather, but he knew that it couldn't be the magnificent thing he had seen only hours before. It just couldn't be.

END FLASHBACK

He now sat staring at the feather again but he couldn't make heads or tails of anything. A costume feather? Why would the victim have a costume feather on him? It just didn't make sense.

It was at that moment that one of the technicians burst into the room "Umm . . . Detective Barton we have more information on the feather," he said.

The technician was a smaller man but muscular compared to Trowa with light brown or dark blonde hair and brown eyes. He had a youthful face, which hinted that he was new. People can't be in this business and stay young, not with all the horrors you see on a day-to-day basis.

Trowa put the feather down and cleared his throat, "So what do you have?" he said in his usual stoic tone.

The technician, who identified himself as Patrick Shelby, went on to discuss how Quatre had found out that the victim had been involved in theater was the lead in an upcoming play called Moonlight Majik1. Shelby also went on about how then Detective Michaels did some investigating on the costumes and found that one of the costumes, the one the feather came from, is of a swan. It was a custom order from a local shop, the only one in town that carried it.

Trowa only half listened to what the man was saying. Once Shelby mentioned Quatre, he found it hard to concentrate on anything else but the little blonde. /Why is that?\ He couldn't stand the sight of him but he had been upset when Winner and Ross had come out of the closet together; not that it was any of his business what those two did. But why had it bothered him? The answer to that question and many more would have to wait for now, he had a case to work on.

Quatre lounged in one of the dinning room chairs as he stared at the feather he had found on the latest victim. Though beautiful as it was, he was not happy to see it. "This only confirms my suspicions," he said to the empty apartment. All of the victims had feathers, such as the one he held in his hand, with them after he examined their bodies. This had not been in the original case file because he did want to arouse suspicions. But with so many victims already and more to come he couldn't afford to play it safe any more. He had already contacted the head of his department and they had agreed, it was time to let someone else in. The main problem was getting Trowa to believe him.

The small blonde put the feather away and stared out the window. It was a clear spring afternoon but he couldn't enjoy the beauty for his thoughts kept wandering to Trowa and how he would react to the news he was about to receive.

Just then Trowa walked through the door. "How do you feel about working on your day off?" Trowa had made it into a question but Quatre knew it was a command rather than a question.

He let out a sigh and grabbed his coat off the chair. "What's up?"

Trowa looked at him for a moment before answering, "A new lead, and we've been sent to check it out" With that he left for the car as Quatre followed, absorbed in his own thoughts.

The shop was in an older district of Chicago. Most of the buildings were old, rundown, and made of brick and the streets were in desperate need of repair. There were potholes big enough for a good-sized man to lie down in and still have plenty of room.

Trowa left the car on one of the major streets and they walked to the shop. Silence floated over them like a third person as they approached the shop.

In the end, it was Trowa who broke the silence as they came to the front of the shop. "This is it," he said matter-of-factly.

Quatre stopped walking and looked at the shop. The shop was at the bottom of a large rundown building with the upper floors probably used for apartments. The shop itself looked quaint with mannequins in the dusty windows displaying elaborate costumes with bright colors. A faded sign above the door read "Madame Crystal's Costume Shop".

"Trowa, what relevance does this actually have with the case?" Quatre asked, and before Trowa could answer, he continued. "We already know that the feather is from a costume the victim was wearing for a play."

"No we don't," Trowa interjected. "The feather is similar to one the Vic was wearing. Plus, how is possible for the feather to still be on him after everything. It would have had to have been glued onto him." He stopped for a small dramatic pause and then went on. "So it is my guess that our killer has another calling card that was probably missed or overlooked." The last phrase was said with a slight glare in Quatre's direction.

Quatre let out a heavy sight. How could he argue with that reasoning and not give himself away. He would just have to let Trowa think he was right, for now at least. When the time was right he would let Trowa know the truth. Now was not that time. So with heavy steps he followed Trowa inside, knowing full well that this was only going to be a waste of time.

A small chime above the door rang as they entered; their nostrils immediately filled with the musty smells of stale air. The shop was a cluttered mess of metal racks full of costumes in a ray of colors. Due to the mess, Trowa and Quatre were forced to walk sideways and weave their way trough the labyrinth to reach the back of the shop.

When they emerged from the last of the costumes, they found that the back portion was not nearly as cluttered as the front had been. To their right was a semi-circular, wooded counter where an antique cash register rested. To the left of the counter, were three doors that reminded Quatre more of shutters than doors - presumably dressing rooms.

As if on cue, a woman appeared from behind a beaded curtain that neither of them had noticed behind the counter. She was as tall as Trowa with a slender, willowy build. Her copper colored hair was streaked with the silver threads of aging and flowed in a wave down to the small of her back. But her face was youthful, a long, slender face with high cheekbones; wide, full lips, a narrow nose and large, round crystal blue eyes. She wore a dress of deep purple that hung loosely from her bonny shoulders and down her frame. She was heavily accessorized with beaded necklaces or varying lengths, as well as several bracelets and a ring on each finger.

"How can I help you gentlemen," she said in a rich alto voice.

"Are you Miss Yerikovich?" Trowa asked in his best professional voice.

"Yes I am, and please feel free to call me Nancy," she said, her tone pleasant as if Quatre and Trowa were old acquaintances.

Trowa flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Trowa Barton and this – indicating Quatre with his thumb – is Agent Quatre Winner. We have a few questions we'd like to ask you about one of your costumes."

"Certainly," she said, her voice still pleasant. "What is it you would like to know?"

Trowa, handing her a picture of the costume in question, began, "You sold this costume to the University of Illinois?"

"Ah, the Swan Prince costume, yes I did. Isn't it a magnificent piece? Took me three months to finish."

"You made the costume?" Quatre asked, not hiding his surprise.

Nancy turned to him, as if seeing him for the first time. "Of course, I make all my costumes." She continued to stare at him as Trowa continued his investigation.

"The feathers you use for the costume, where did you get them?"

"I ordered plain white feathers from a costume company but the mother-of-pearl coloring I added myself."

"Have you sold any other costumes containing the same type of feathers?"

"No, I haven't. I used my entire stock on the Swan Prince."

Her eyes still stayed focused on Quatre, even as Trowa thanked her for her time. As they turned to leave, she spoke. "Mr. Winner?"

Quatre turned, "Yes?"

"Be careful, what you seek is searching for not one but two targets."

He merely blinked at her. "What to you mean?"

"All will be revealed soon. Have a good day _Agent_ Winner." And then she disappeared behind her beaded curtain.

Trowa waited for Quatre to come out. /What could be taking him so long? Is he buying a costume?\ He was going over the conversation in his head over and over again. It didn't make any sense. "Something's not adding up, and I bet Winner knows why."

Pushing away from the building he had been leaning against, Trowa began to pace. As he paced, he tried to put the pieces together; trying to find a way to connect them all. But try as he might, he couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Quatre finally emerged from the shop. "What took you so long?" Trowa snapped.

"I had to us the bathroom."

Trowa rolled his eyes and started heading for the car. "Let's go."

He stopped when he didn't hear footsteps following him. "What is it now?" he said turning around. Only, as he turned around, Quatre wasn't there.

"Winner?" he called, but there was no answer. /Where could he have gone to now? He is proving to be more of a pain then anything.\

"WINNER GET THE FUCK OUT HERE NOW!" Trowa beginning to become irate. They had things to do and he was playing Houdini.

Trowa began to walk back the way he had come, his footsteps echoing down the ally way. As he neared his target he noticed that the world around him had gone silent. There were no sounds of cars in the distance, no machine noises, and no televisions running, nothing. He shouted for his partner once more, but no sound came out.

He quickly turned and headed for the car, and then he noticed to figures in the distance. They seemed to be fighting. Trowa immediately recognized one of the figures as Quatre, and raced to help his partner. But as he neared the scene, his world flashed white and then fell to black.

TBC . . .

Night Majik is not a real play as far as I know and I meant to spell Majik that way.

I didn't like this chapter and that is why I have revised it. Please tell what you think. Thank you.


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